Eleuthra sat down on her haunches, licked her teeth, and let her tongue protrude. She let the sense of the drow s words flow over her, and focused instead on the sharpened black nail that reached out toward the princess s face. She swallowed, and let her tongue slide out again between her teeth.
But Lady Amaranth flinched as if from a blow. Though he had intervened to help her and had brought her here, had rescued her, partly, from her sister s hate, still the malevolence in his red eyes was hard for her to tolerate. As in the clearing below Citadel Umbra, she felt powerless to move, and the fingernail, as it descended from her face, seemed once again to uncover her and leave her bare.
All die, he whispered. Hot blood mixing in shadow and black mud, except for you. This is what Araithe tells me. Why is that? Tell me why.
On one side of the smoky guardroom, lit only by a plate of charcoal on an iron tripod, the drow captain stood with the priestess behind him, the young handmaiden of Lolth. With his left hand he held her by the forearm. On the other side of the stone room, Amaranth and the wolf and the watersoul genasi, and Lukas also holding onto her forearm, until she drew her arm away.
Too late, whispered the drow. Araithe sent me to bring you back. To bring you back and kill the rest, press their blood out in the dark. Because I have not done this, do not think I pity you.
The little room was full, but he spoke as if it were empty save for him and her, as if even the whimpering girl he held fast by the forearm did not exist. Let their blood flow in the dark, he repeated. Then he smiled. Or at least, he twisted his black, thin lips in an approximation. Lady, the citadel is not a bright or healthy place for you. I believe you will not thrive there or be glad. You would not shine there like a jewel or a seam of silver.
Over the past hour, Amaranth had come to much the same conclusion. Standing erect in the low, smoky room, she felt too exhausted to be frightened. She had left her refuge on Moray Island with mixed feelings; part anger and sulky spite, to see her work there disparaged and destroyed. Part longing for home, and to be with her own kind. Part heartsick with the transience of mortal creatures. And partly from a sense of frustrated destiny, which she had used to muffle any fears she had for her reception.
Now her fears were more than realized, and now she had felt the sting of her sister s malice, her nephew s selfishness and bloated arrogance. Yes, they had humiliated her and shamed her, and she had found the experience exhilarating. Frozen in place, she had willed Lukas to look at her, and he had turned his stupid mortal eyes away. But maybe it took shame to set her free. Cheeks burning, she had willed them all to look at her, while at the same time she was thinking: Is this all you have for me? I am Princess Amaranth leShay, the Yellow Rose of Sarifal, untouched by mortal laws.
In this way and in this way only she was like the other members of her family. When they were struggling and scrounging in the grass under her feet, she had felt her power over them. For ten years in the wilderness she had built a fortress of virtue and rectitude, and the gods had plundered it, knocked down her walls. Now she was home.
She said nothing, but she raised her chin, staring down the drow captain, her cheeks red with shame. For the first time she felt the permanence of her endless life, in which one day or ten years was as nothing. These other creatures in the room with her, they were as shadows in the smoky air.
If the drow understood anything of what she was thinking, he gave no sign. He grimaced, hissed, and expelled his breath as if in pain.
By the black Lady Araushnee, I fear you. Weak as you are, weak as dry dust, I believe I see in you the fall of leShay. Already the knights of the Llewyrr have left the boundaries of Synnoria. They are riding through the darkness and the light, hoping to find you and put you on the crystal throne in Karador. But my pact is not with you. It is with your sister and Prince Araithe. Tell me, if you were queen of Sarifal, would you let me bring my people from the Underdark, my daughters and my sons, to walk under the night sky? Would you let us build a temple to our goddess here in Winterglen?
The princess did not lie. For half a minute the drow captain studied her face, before he stuck out his black tongue. I did not think so. Ten years ago Araithe sent me to bring you back, because you had almost come of age to serve his purpose. I lost you in the highlands at Crane Point. Too late to fix that. If I give you to the prince, if I give you to the queen, they will kill each other no mistake. Same result. And then what happens to me? Araithe has promised me Winterglen and the citadel, all of it, when he moves to Karador after his mother s death.
Not that he longs for that, he continued moodily, lowering his head, staring into the glowing brazier. He would destroy anyone who touched a hair of her head. He is a dutiful son, that way.
His voice, despite its harshness, was so soft that Amaranth had to strain to hear. In these last murmurings, she imagined it had passed beyond the range of human ears, and that he spoke to her only or to the wolf. Now he spoke a little louder, Aah, I must send you away. Or I will take back the head of one of you and say the rest escaped. No, but what a failure that would be. Ah no. His face twisted with frustration. All of you must leave me. All of you must go. My daughter will show you Amaka will show you the way. Go to Synnoria, to Chrysalis, and find your knights, and raise your rebellion. That is the only chance for you. Mark you, when I meet you again, and lead the dark elves into battle, I will do your family s bidding, I will promise you. Whatever they ask, I will do it. If they want you cut apart so they can share you, that is what I will do. Heart on one side, bowels on the other. Living head on one side, living womb on the other. I will avenge years of failure. Remember that. Remember what I say, if in the future you are tempted to hope for better things. The drow will always choose the winning side.
Chapter Fifteen — In Synnoria
But in Harrowfast, in the mountains above Synnoria, in a council chamber cut out of the rock, things weren t going well. Irritated and distracted, Suka lounged on a stone seat that had been carved for someone many times her size, one of a semicircular row that ran along the west side of the chamber, away from the action, yet not so far away that she felt comfortable falling asleep on the yellow cushions, or picking her nose, or anything like that. Below her, at the bottom of the stepped floor, Ughoth and Marabaldia sat at a stone table, side by side, representing the fomorians. Opposite them were Lord Mindarion and several other knights from Chrysalis. Mindarion himself, though he occupied the seat of honor, was scarcely part of the proceedings, because of the damage he had sustained in the fight with the darkwalker; he slumped in his chair with his eyes closed, a pained expression on his face. In Suka s opinion this was less a product of his wound, and more of a reaction to the absurdity of the eladrin representatives who spoke for him, or claimed to. From time to time he raised his long, pale fingers to his cheek and pushed away a lock of his pale hair, struck now with gray, Suka perceived for the first time.
His wound was not visible. It showed itself in weakness and lassitude, as if he no longer cared about the project for which, after all, he had committed his life, and betrayed his sovereign, and entered into these negotiations with the ancient enemies of his race. He no longer looked as if he gave two shits about any of that, in Suka s opinion. No, she guessed, his thoughts were far away, trembling upon some leafy bow in Synnoria, overlooking the sweet waters of the lake, while up here in the rocks these other morons made a mess of things.
Of all races in the mortal realm, the eladrin were the worst diplomats. No one else even came close. Orcs would have been more successful. But the eladrin were incapable of hiding the contempt they felt for everyone unlucky enough not to be one of them. They treated Captain Rurik as men might treat a chimpanzee with whom they d had to share a meal. With the fomorians they were even worse, forever rolling their eyes, fanning their noses, or holding up their scented handkerchiefs, while at the same time fumbling with each other for the farthest seat, and mumbling about the lack of fresh air. Lord Askepel, who had taken over the negotiations, seemed incapable of grasping his own position that he had embarked on a revolt that had no hope of succeeding without help. Nor had he grasped that of his potential allies, the fomorians were motivated only by a sense of grievance, because of the injury done to their noble and generous and sentimental princess. As for Captain Rurik and the Ffolk, there was no reason for them to be part of this without significant concessions, and freedom from the bondage of a hundred years.
No Lord Askepel thought it was their duty to help him. He thought they would rejoice at the chance, as lesser beings who had been given an opportunity to improve themselves. It would be unnatural and perverse for them to expect anything in return.
Bored and uncomfortable, Suka hugged her shins, nearly toppling out of her stone niche her feet didn t reach
